


Mr. Lindon's Library

by Zaiya (iqoras)



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-22
Updated: 2015-09-22
Packaged: 2019-03-08 03:27:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13449561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iqoras/pseuds/Zaiya
Summary: She found the book on a Tuesday night in an old library. When she told Aiden about it, her eyes lit up in wonder and she described fairy-lights and glowing flowers and the most peculiar old man, and though he hated himself for it, he only had it in himself to roll his eyes at her imagination. Jinx was always telling fantastical stories, fascinated brown eyes blinking up at the world as if it were a puzzle and it was up to her to solve it and put all of the pieces together. When she was finished, she’d have a picture that only she could see the beauty in.“When do you have to return it?” He had asked, humoring her, eyebrows raised in question. He didn’t see a title on the book, or any words decorating the leather, and it was certainly the strangest book he had ever seen.





	Mr. Lindon's Library

 

* * *

She found the book on a Tuesday night in an old library. When she told Aiden about it, her eyes lit up in wonder and she described fairy-lights and glowing flowers and the most _peculiar_ old man, and though he hated himself for it, he only had it in himself to roll his eyes at her imagination. Jinx was always telling fantastical stories, fascinated brown eyes blinking up at the world as if it were a puzzle and it was up to her to solve it and put all of the pieces together. When she was finished, she’d have a picture that only she could see the beauty in.

      “When do you have to return it?” He had asked, humoring her, eyebrows raised in question. He didn’t see a title on the book, or any words decorating the leather, and it was certainly the strangest book he had ever seen.

      “Never,” she quipped. “It’s mine. Mr. Jacob Linden was very insistent that I take it. He shoved the book at me and said that it belonged to me now! Amazing, right?” Amazing was _one_ word for it, his mind snarked silently. It leaned more toward creepy than anything else.

      Aiden’s hands had ghosted out to take the book, interested despite himself, the way that he was always interested when Jinx had something to say. His journey was jarred to a halt when she jerked away from him, pulling the leather-bound book close to her chest and glaring at him, smile dissolving and lips turning down in disapproval. He had blanched, eyes wide in confusion, and had laughed in an attempt to rid the air of awkwardness. It had worked well enough and she had come back to him, to reality. Still, a part of her had been focused on the book and Aiden could remember his frustration about her not paying complete attention to him. Seems selfish now. Almost childish.

* * *

Jinx carried the book with her always, after that. He never saw her without it. Anywhere she went, it followed, and she never left it behind her. She would walk up to him, her usual, delighted self, and he wasn’t able to stop his eyes from darting to it. Of course you have the book, Aiden would want to say, the bitter voice in his head encouraging him on. A part of him started to hate Mr. Linden, whoever he was, for giving her the book. Aiden never did voice his thoughts, though, and would instead greet her with a grin and a sarcastic remark that she’d shrug off. His heart felt heavy and light all at the same time.

      She would lead him around and he would follow. Her footsteps were always light, elegant, and his were stumbling and self-loathing. Jinx never mentioned it. Neither did he. They pretended that words came to him easily, that existing wasn’t a struggle, and so far nothing had popped their little fairytale.

* * *

She left the book behind her once, when she went home from school for the day. Aiden found it lying in her seventh hour seat while he was collecting his things and he picked it up. He meant to return it to her without looking at it, he really did, but as soon as his skin touched the leather an overwhelming urge to _know_ overtook him. He bit his lip, looked around the room, and hurried out to his car to get home. The drive to his house was unbearable. Even with his music blaring, Aiden could feel the book bearing down on him from where it sat in his passenger’s seat. He pressed down harder on the gas pedal and sped away, flying to his house in record time.

      He couldn’t find it in himself to care about his mother’s scolding when he got inside. He hurried to his room and flung his belongings onto his bed, holding the leather book in carefully trembling hands. He felt guilty already but it wasn’t going to stop him from looking inside and solving the mystery. He sat on the edge of his bed and took a deep, steadying breath. Jinx would be so angry at him if she knew. It was an invasion of privacy. He really should just put the book down and return it to her. But. . .  well, he had already come this far.

      Fingers pulled at the edge of the leather and he opened it, eyes greedy for the secrets within. All he managed to make out was that it wasn’t a printed book—it contained hand-written words. And the handwriting within was definitely Jinx’s. He wasn’t able to read any words before his vision went blank and he fell back into his bed, unconscious.

      When Aiden woke up, he convinced himself that he simply fell asleep, nothing else to it. The explanation was weak, even for himself, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit to anything else. Still, when he looked at the seemingly innocent book sprawled on his floor, he couldn’t rid himself of the anxiety that crawled beneath his skin. It was wrong. It was evil. Why had an empty journal been at a library? Why had Mr. Linden insisted that Jinx take it? It was unsettling. He tore his eyes away and checked the time. Apparently he had slept the whole night, thought it had felt like seconds. He was exhausted.

      When he got to school, Jinx was waiting for him. Her eyes were wild and her hair was sticking up and out as if she had been in the center of a tornado. “I can’t find it,” she exhaled, words panicked and voice strained. If the darkness in his stomach hadn’t already been there, it definitely was now—and thick. There were thorns pressing into his heart. Aiden grimaced and took his bag off his shoulder, opening it and shoving it in her direction. There was no way he was touching the book again. Jinx took it on instinct and looked in.

      Silence. Heavy, loaded silence. At first she seemed confused. Then her lips pressed together and her brown eyes darkened, black black black, angry black. “You took it.” An accusation. He shook his head, denial and a plea for understanding all in one. Her forehead creased. “Then what..?”

      “You left it in seventh hour. I picked it up for you.” True. All true. “I didn’t read anything, so don’t worry.” Also true. He may have attempted to read it but he hadn’t technically gotten anything out of it. He could feel the sourness pulling at his words and cleared his throat, not wanting to let the bitterness ruin his morning. He ignored the sick feeling inside of him.

      “Oh,” she sighed. “Thank you, Aiden.” He shrugged, eyes going to the ground, and shuffled in place awkwardly. “I mean it,” she insisted, stepping toward him and hugging him tight. His heart may have thumped but he still couldn’t rid himself of the dread following him around.  

      “Yeah. Whatever.” Just on time, the bell rang. “Let’s go.”

* * *

Aiden got over himself quickly. Within a few days, he was full of mocking energy and his quiver was filled to the brim with sarcastic remarks. The weekend was pleasant. He refueled himself on pizza and video games and when Monday rolled around, he was ready for things to return to normal. He was ready to ignore the journal and its mystery, his suspicions about Mr. Linden, and any strangeness the journal brought with it.

      His resolve only lasted until he saw her. Her skin was pale, pasty, and there were purple bruises under her eyes. Aiden’s breath hitched in surprise and he jogged to her side, hands hovering in the air, concerned, not knowing what to do with himself. He spared himself any further awkwardness and dropped his hands back to his sides.

      “What is it? What happened?” His voice was higher than normal in concern. Are you okay? he wanted to ask. Is your mom okay? Your sister? Are you sick? Questions flitted through his mind, worry corroding at his brain, more acidic than any poison.

      Jinx huffed at him. “I’m fine,” she snapped in irritation and he took an instinctive step back. He probably resembled a frightened animal. A startled child. It was unbecoming. Aiden composed himself quickly and forced a smile. It felt painful and probably looked even worse but it was better than nothing.

      “Okay,” he placated, soothing, trying to iron out the wrinkles in the paper that was their friendship. Her grip on the book was tight, knuckles white, and suddenly he was done. He couldn’t handle dancing around the edges any longer. Fury bubbled in his stomach, burying the anxiety, and lapped its way up to his throat. “Actually, you know what? No. It’s not okay and you’re not fine. You look terrible.”

      Aiden’s voice dropped and he glanced around wearily, though anger still seethed in his eyes. “That book is evil, Jinx. There’s something off about it. It did something to me—I don’t. . . Please, get rid of it. It’s not good for you.”

      For a second, she seemed as if she might listen. Her eyes danced around his face, dropped to the book, and then darted back to him. “What do you mean it did something?” She shook her head, didn’t give him time to answer. “No. Don’t answer. You’re paranoid and you’ve been acting jealous since I got this thing. That’s ridiculous, Aiden! Who gets jealous over an inanimate object?” She thrust her free hand out in defiance and turned around, marching away. In that moment, he could honestly say two things. He _definitely_ hated whoever this Mr. Linden was and he wasn’t sorry to see her go.

* * *

He felt sorry the very next day. He was even sorrier the next week, when she continued to ignore him. At first he tried not to watch her. Tried to act like he didn’t care. When that didn’t work and guilt ate away at him— _why had he snapped? Why hadn’t he kept his opinions to himself? Why?_ —he turned to observing.

      Jinx wasn’t improving. She was even paler than before, if that was possible, and seemed lethargic. She was sick. She couldn’t keep up in any of her classes, according to their friends, and seemed to be ignoring everyone. It wasn’t just him. Aiden may have been the catalyst for the eruption but he certainly wasn’t the only victim of Jinx’s explosion.

      Halfway through week three, he approached her. She was sitting by herself during lunch, tray pushed to the side (untouched), forehead pressed to the table. He sat down across from her, knuckles rapping against the table three times to announce his presence. She hummed in acknowledgment of his presence but didn’t move.

      “Jinx.”

      She didn’t answer. He sighed.

      “Jinx, what’s going on? Talk to me.” Her shoulders trembled but she made no move to face him. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. I’m sorry. But I still care about you. You’re my best friend.” He was pleading, hands sprawled out on the table between them. And finally, finally, finally she looked up.

      Her hair was thinner. The bruises under her eyes were worse. He honestly had no idea what to say. She looked like a terminal patient, nearing the end of her days, and it was terrifying. It was awful. Still, he couldn’t take his eyes off of her.

      “You look. . .” His voice trailed off, Aiden unable to find any words to describe what he was seeing.

      “I know.” Normally, she might have sounded defensive. Angry. Sarcastic, even. She would have made some sort of comment about him stating the obvious. Instead, she sounded exhausted, as if something was draining the life from her. Without will of his own, his eyes dropped to her hands, and cradled against her chest was the journal.

      Maybe he was just paranoid. Maybe not. Either way, the book looked _more_ alive. It looked vibrant. He thought he saw flowers pressed between the pages, as if she had stuffed a garden inside of it. The thing was, they didn’t look old—they didn’t even look as if they’d been pushed between the pages and plucked from the Earth hours ago. They were fresh. Still living. _Growing._ He inhaled sharply, tearing his gaze away.

      “Jinx,” he began again, voice pleading. “You need to get rid of that journal. Please. I’ll help you. I’ll _do it for you_ if you want. Just. . . please. It’s not right. It’s evil.” By the end of his speech, he gave way to the feeling of defeat already bubbling within him and slumped his shoulders. He didn’t need to see the fierce shake of her head to know that getting rid of the journal wasn’t something she would even consider.

      Aiden got up and walked away. He didn’t look back.

* * *

Aiden went to Mr. Linden’s old library three days after that. The library was stuffed inside an old building, on the corner of a forgotten side of the city, and it smelled musty. He wrinkled his nose at the scent but pushed his way in nonetheless.

      Books were piled everywhere, stacked one on top of the either. The organization was horrible. He didn’t see a system in authors, titles, or genre. It was chaos. Each shelf was full—there were so many books that many spilled to the floor.

      Standing behind a desk in the center of the room was a man. He didn’t _look_ old, though the rest of his features seemed to match those that Jinx had described Mr. Linden as having. His hair was short, cropped, and black. There were smile-lines around his eyes and he seemed all-around jolly.

      “Excuse me,” Aiden said. The man looked at him and nodded.

      “Hello. I’m Jacob Linden. Welcome to my library.” His voice was friendly enough but something about his eyes made Aiden feel unwelcomed. This was. . . wrong.

      “Linden?” He paused. _His_ library? But Aiden was certain that an old man ran this place. At least according to Jinx and he didn’t think that she would lie about something like that. “Does your father work here as well?”

      “No,” said the man. “Just me.” His smile was too-knowing.

      “I’m. . .” Aiden shook his head, completely at a lost. He felt like he was in a daze. “A few months ago, did a girl come in here? Around 5 foot 5 inches, brown hair, brown eyes, and get a leather journal?”

      “Oh!” Mr. Linden smiled. “Yes, she did. Jinx, right? I _do_ hope she’s enjoying the journal I gave her.” The man laughed to himself, as if there was a joke that only he understood. Aiden left.

* * *

As the weeks passed, Jinx got worse. Aiden didn’t avoid her. She didn’t avoid him. But something about their conversations was _lacking_. Eventually, Jinx stopped talking and he gave up on trying to pinpoint the difference. He missed her voice.

      Her hair had gotten so thin that she took to wearing a hat. Her wrists were so small that Aiden could wrap his fingers around them and still have room. Her clothes were too big for her. She was always freezing.

      Aiden did not know what to do.

      When Jinx stopped showing up for school, he wasn’t surprised. He gave her a few days, waited to see if she would come back, before deciding to go to her house to check on her. He probably knew then, really. He probably suspected that everything had changed. That there was no going back from this. And yet he still drove to her house, still knocked on the door, still smiled at Jinx’s mother—she looked as worried as Aiden felt, her lashes wet—and still walked into the house and through the hallway.

      Aiden was, inexplicably, calm. He had been calm throughout the whole drive to Jinx’s house. It wasn’t until he was standing outside of her bedroom, staring at her door, that he felt his pulse quicken, heard it pounding in his ears. Hanging on her door, as always, was the sign saying “Jinx’s Kingdom—Keep Out” and the splotches of paint decorating the wood in a random pattern.

      It looked the same. Despite everything, despite all the changes, her door looked the same and perhaps that’s what pushed Aiden over the edge. He knocked on the door, not expecting an answer but unable to break the habit, before fumbling with the handle and turning the cold metal underneath his palm. He pushed the door open and the familiarity of it all almost knocked him off of his feet.

      Her walls were purple. Posters covered nearly every surface. Christmas lights hung from the ceilings and down the walls and it was all too familiar, too much of the same, as if Jinx’s bedroom had been frozen for the past months. As if Jinx’s Kingdom has undergone a stasis and was only just now under attack in the form of Aiden’s determination.

      Lying there, on her bed, was Jinx. Hair short, skin pale, eyes closed, she slept.  It should have been a peaceful scene. It might have been, if it weren’t for the journal laying in front of her, open, a jungle seeming to sprout from it. It was alive. A vague, distant part of him knew that her words have given it life, that it had drained her and sunk its claws into her, pulling her down while it was pulled up. It had broken into reality and there was nothing Aiden could do.

      His hand pushed against her arm, gripped, shook, and there was no reaction. Jinx was gone, lost in some deep sleep, her consciousness tucked away. She was freezing but not dead, her chest rising slowly, steadily, but there was no returning her to _true_ life. Aiden knew that she was gone.

      He went numb, couldn’t feel the marathon beating inside of him, or the spiraling emotion churning in his stomach. His eyes were unfocused, staring at nothing. Aiden had failed. He had lost Jinx to a place that he couldn’t go, hadn’t been strong enough to combat her stubbornness or her willingness to run into disaster.

_He had warned her about the book. Now it was too late._


End file.
